Carter's Apocalypse
by Jeremi963
Summary: A young man traverses the southeast in search of his family, who was separated from him during the zombie apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

Snarls and growls surrounded a wooden crate on an abandoned cargo ship. Inside that very crate, sat a man who was waiting for his last breath. This obviously was not the way to go on a run, and that was evident. He readied his pistol in his left hand and his army knife in his right hand and prepared for his final stand. Before the snarls got any louder, he burst out of the crate and ran for the dock. Little did he know the dock was full of them.

They were everywhere, pushing past each other to get to him. They were falling of the gangplank into the abyss, simply jumping from the dock, walking, crawling, pushing, snarling their way up the gangplank. He readied his pistol, only to be bit in the neck from behind. Apparently, there was more on the ship.

As the man went down in a swarm of biting and ripping, he could only think, _I should've stayed at the camp_. Bites tear his arms and stomach and ravage his neck and head. He's dead.

A prompt changed the screen to "You DIED. Select New Character" in the hands of a fifteen year old boy. "Turn that game off, bro, it's time to eat," An elder boy of nineteen commanded and a heavy plate of freshly sliced turkey hits the table.

The fifteen year old boy sighs and cuts off the gaming system before stretching out his muscles from extended sitting. "That's fine, Carter, I lost my best character anyways."

"You don't mean you almost lost Richard, did you?" He almost dropped the pot of hot beans from the stove. "That guy was LOADED."

"No, no, no, Steve. The Militiaman," The boy said. "The one with the strength, you know?"

"Will you two shut up and eat," the mother said. "I can't stand it when all you boys talk about is those video games."

"Ma, they're not just games," Carter tried to convince his mother. "They're personality."

"Your personality is zombies killing people? Keep away from me," The father joked.

The family sat around the table for dinner. A total of six of them sat around together, mouths watering, yet heads bowed in saying a before-dinner prayer. There was three boys, one girl, a mother, and a father. The first boy, nineteen, was named Carter. He was of medium height and build for a man, who was somewhat strong, yet had never been in a fight. The second boy, fifteen, was named Trevor. He was tall with a skinny build, who wasn't as strong but could fight and was extremely intelligent. The third boy, twelve, was named Walter. He was normal height with a stocky build, goofy yet somewhat strong for his age. The girl, seven, was named Ariah. She was small, skinny, and all but defenseless. The mother, forty, was named Tracy. She was short and medium build, and could shoot just about any kind of gun there was. Finally, the father, thirty eight, was named Jeff. He was tall and had a strong build. He was the strength of the family, with almost every skill there was.

The family was dysfunctional, but they were a family nonetheless. Times were good, or at least they thought so.

Carter often remembers life back then, but he tries his hardest not to.

"Carter! Carter!" He snaps to attention as he is awakened from his flashback by Bryan, the vice president of their ragtag group. "What are you doing? I told you to keep watch over the PEOPLE, not the grass!"

"Yes sir, I apologize sir," Carter mumbles under his breath. He wasn't sure how long he had been with this particular group, but he knew he hated it from the very beginning. No one had any idea what they were doing, but all acted like they did, which made it worse. There was ten of them altogether, living just outside of a deserted camping ground alonside a stream.

Carter was the only one in the group that was not at one point military trained, and he was the youngest. When they found him, he was armed only with his combat knife and a six shot revolver with four shots in it. He had been hiding in an old Campbell's shipping warehouse where, luckily, there had been tons and tons of untouched food. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Boys, keep your eyes and guns up!" Bryan shouted. "Biters on the floor means biters on their feet."

Carter was afraid to come close to them. He hadn't seen a regular person since his house was attacked. The only thing he had seen was walkers. Or biters, as their group calls them.

"Sir, I've found someone!" Vale, basically a rank private in the group, shouted back. He had found Carter busy eating a can of chicken noodle soup.

"Waste him," Bryan grimaced. "He's probably been bit. You know the drill."

"Wait!" Carter jumped and yelled. In the excitement, he had dropped his knife and was now unarmed. "I am clean, I swear!" He showed them his arms and legs. Although covered with matted blood and dirt, there were no bites.

"We take no dead weight. Sorry kid," Bryan snickered as he raised his .45 to meet his face.

"Stop, Bryan," Perry demanded. Perry was the undeniable leader of the group. He was an extremely strong, extremely smart ex marine who knew bad situations that would make anyones skin crawl. "Look at him, he has survived, on your own?" He gestured to me.

He nodded. "Yes sir."

"On his own for this long. He could be a useful asset to us. How much training do you have, son?" Perry ushered the group to lower their guns.

"None at all, sir," Carter lowered his head. He knew this wasn't the way to get along with a new group, especially when they all had guns more powerful than he had ever imagined. But he had to be honest.

Perry shook his head. "Still, he is a use to us. Men, gather up as many cans as your bags can carry and let's go." Perry paused. "You know how to use that gun, son?"

Carter nodded. "But I don't want to. I'd rather use my knife."

"Why?" Perry seemed concerned. "What's so special about this gun? It's not even that powerful."

"It was my father's gun," Carter replied. "I promised my family that if I found them and they had turned, each bullet was reserved for each of us. Two bullets are gone, two family members have been found."

The rest of the walk was in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

"Carter!" Bryan's voice cut through Carter's train of thought like a knife. Carter had never had a problem with daydreaming before the world went under. For some reason, he couldn't shake the haunting daydreams and shaking nightmares. Most nights he would wake with a start in a cold sweat. Every time, he found himself clutching his knife so tight his knuckles turned white. On the outside, when everyone was watching, Carter was a fearless warrior. Yet on the inside, where everyone couldn't see, all he wanted was to know the rest of his family was safe.

"Okay, that's it! You're off guard duty for the night! To your bunk!" Carter laid down the AK 47 he chose for his guard time and trudged across the campground, just past Bryan. Bryan grabbed the back of Carter's collar just as he walked past.

"Let me go!" Carter demanded. Not many things in life set him off. But treat him like a child, and Carter would go on a rampage. "Now!" Bryan leans in close to Carter's ear.

"I don't like you, runt," Carter could feel the sneer in his voice, even though it was too dark to see his face. He knew he was snarling, with his lips peeled back over his teeth in a twisted snicker. His hot breath contrasting the cool breeze blowing through the trees.

"You don't say?" Carter remarked. He had been treated this way by Bryan for at least three out of the four months that Carter had been with them. "Step off, Bryan. I'd hate to have to tell Perry how I was attacked by your corpse."

Bryan snapped back just long enough for Carter to wiggle free. The two stood just out of arm's length from each other, staring each other down. Neither one could see the other, but they both could feel the tension and the hated glare coming from the other. Carter's hand stayed firm on his knife, which was already out of its sheath. He knew Bryan had his pistol at least in hand.

"I'll kill you one day, runt," Bryan sneered again. "Or better yet, I'll watch you get eaten alive. Perry won't save you forever."

_At least he's taunting me from a comfortable distance,_ Carter thought. Finally, Carter turned a full 180 and walked to his tent. He could still feel the glare from Bryan on his back, and worse, he could feel the barrel of the gun pointed at him.

Bryan tried scare tactics all the time to get people to mind him, even though he's only second in charge. It wasn't just that he hated Carter, he just enjoyed people cowering in fear of him. Considering he was only an MP in the military, he probably needed the attention. Carter shook the thought from his head. He respects all military, regardless of rank or job. He, himself had actually considered joining not a month before everything happened.

The camp was dull, considering there was ten MEN living in tents and surviving off of squirrel, berries, and chicken noodle soup. As far as he knew, it had been months since any of the others saw a woman, which made it extremely awkward. According to Bryan, "Women are trouble." Truth is any woman would rather be eaten alive than deal with a group of smelly, starving ex military men and a "kid" as everyone called Carter.

Carter's tent was the smallest, since he slept alone the majority of the time. The only times he slept in any kind of group was when a few biters had been seen on a round. The people in the group was, Perry (the leader), Bryan (second in charge), Watson and Wilson(hunter/exterminator brothers), Kyle (scout), Jake (fisherman, which is pretty useless because he never catches anything), Garrett (gun maintenance) Peterson (day guard), Vale (evening guard), and of course, Carter (night guard). Carter chose the night watch because he had trouble sleeping in the dark while those things were out anyway, so he figure make himself useful during the nights. He was usually away from the others in the group, which was exactly how he liked it.

He laid down on his wore-down metal cot in the tent and stared up at the sky through the small rip in his tent. This tent had belonged to Cooper, the night guard before Carter had come along. He was apparently attacked and killed in the very tent Carter laid his head down in every day. It didn't creep him out knowing this was a dead man's tent. He'd seen, _killed_, so many of those things he had become desensitized to whatever was left in the world. The only thing that ate him up inside (no pun intended) was knowing he still had three other family members somewhere out there.

Carter pulled his gun out of his holster and looked at the names engraved in the bullets that were left. Carved into each one was a name, the name of who it belonged to. The first one said "Carter", which was for when he had become bit. The second one said "Trevor". He still had yet to find him. He missed the annoying questions and the constantly bugging him every chance Trevor got. The next one read "Walter". His other kid brother was out there, facing the same things he was. The thought made him sick. The last bullet read off "Ariah". His eyes welled up with hot tears as he put the cartriges back in the revolver. He had shot both of his parents personally when their house was raided by those biters. He waited until they had died to shoot them before they came back as those awful things. They sacrificed themselves to keep Carter, Trevor, Walter, and Ariah safe.

"C... Carter..." Jeff stammered. "I don't care what happens... Take care of them... Promise me..."

"I promise dad," Carter managed through wailing tears.

"And son," Tracy uttered through the pain and fever of the disease. "Promise me you won't let them be like them."

"I promise ma," Carter turned his head as he pointed the revolver at his father first, then his mother. He hadn't even realized his siblings were hiding behind a wall, watching and hearing everything that happened. They saw Carter as a monster, a mommy and daddy killer. Trevor understood, but Walter and Ariah had no idea.

Carter couldn't hold it back anymore. He was alone in his tent, so he started crying. He broke down to the point he couldn't move.

"Guys, no! Come back!" Carter pleaded as he chased his siblings through the disastrous streets. "You don't understand! It's not safe!"

"Get away you monster!" Walter screamed back through tears. The three of them took off through the streets, weaving and bobbing through the carnage and terror that was downtown of their once quiet small town. Before long, Carter lost sight of them into the distance.

"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" Carter yelled at himself. He made himself nearly insane with the memories. He heard voices sometimes, but he could control them. Sometimes they were even replaced with the groans of the undead, and that turned into many sleepless nights and days. Carter sat up and buried his face in his hands.

"I've already failed, dad," Carter sobbed through the hole in his tent ceiling. "They're gone."

He looks down, still holding his revolver. He twists the barrel to his name, and puts it to his head...

"No, you still have a duty to complete," He told himself. He slowly lowered his own pistol until it was sitting on the cot beside him. "No more of that until they are found. They are alive."

Carter cleaned up his face and walked back out to Bryan.

"I'm ready to take my position back," Carter stated as if he hadn't just had an emotional breakdown in his tent. "I'll return for the night and stay over on watch if I have to in order to make up for what I missed."

"I was getting tired anyway, runt," Bryan spat on Carter's shoe. "Sorry," He said sarcastically.

"Go rest. You need it," Carter said with a hint of sarcasm added to his own fake sympathy. With that, Bryan walked away with nothing more than a shoulder nudge. Carter picked his AK 47 back up and stood watch the remainder of the night.


End file.
